Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) Page 6

  By the time I veered off Henry Hudson Parkway, Marcus had been asleep for a good hour, and I stopped a little too abruptly at a red light, jerking the car to a halt.

  Marcus’ eyes sprang open, and he wiped a string of drool from his lips. He peered around slowly. “We almost there?”

  “We’ll be at the hotel in five minutes.” The light went green, and I urged the SUV forward, dreading the parking cost alone. I did all right as a professor, but my recent expedition had drained most of my savings. Financially, I wasn’t where I’d wanted to be at this stage of my career, penny-pinching and worrying about paying the bills.

  Instead of staying somewhere fancy, I’d opted for a basic room at a hotel near the museum. When the valet took our bags and car, Marcus smiled, inhaling deeply. “I love New York.”

  It was dark, but not too late. The sidewalks were still busy, with diners laughing and talking loudly from al fresco restaurants across the street. I did love the energy of this area. A taxi honked, and I glanced up, seeing a dark BMW attempting to change lanes. The windows were tinted, and I tried to get a look at the driver but couldn’t with the streetlight’s reflection off the glass.

  “Come on, Rex. Let’s unpack and find something to eat.” Marcus left me on the street, walking past the doorman and into the hotel lobby.

  I saw another BMW drive by, a similar model, then another a moment later. “Get it together, Rex,” I whispered to myself.

  ____________

  “Did we have to wake up so early? I thought this was a vacation,” Marcus complained as we walked down Central Park West, a bagel and coffee in our hands. “Speaking of which, when is the last time you took a real vacation?”

  “I don’t know. For pleasure?” I asked, making Marcus laugh.

  “Yes, for pleasure. You know, hit the beach? Hike to a Vermont lake? Not to mention bringing a woman. Seriously, Rex, you need to get on a dating app before you forget what goes where.”

  We sat at a bench on the west end of the museum, and I popped the top off my coffee. It steamed in the cool morning air. It was late in the year, but the city wasn’t showing any signs of snow quite yet. A lot of the stores were adorned with Christmas ornaments, and the museum had decorations draped over ancient trees. Everything was turned off now, as the place wouldn’t be open for another few hours. Marcus held his cup with both hands, trying to get warmth from it. I knew he’d rather have eaten indoors, but he didn’t complain as he started munching his bagel.

  “I haven’t seen you making any proposals lately, kid,” I told him.

  “Believe me, all the ladies I’ve been seeing aren’t into the long-term kind of thing.” He crumpled up the paper his bagel had been nested in and tossed it perfectly into the center of a cast-iron wastebasket.

  A woman strolled by with two dogs, and she was so bundled up from the cold, I couldn’t even see her face. One of the mutts stopped at me, sniffing my leg, and I fed it a piece of my bagel without the woman knowing. Then they were off.

  “Any game plan we need to abide by today?” Marcus asked.

  I examined the building behind us. It was where Brian Hardy lived. I wore a trench coat, with my finest suit underneath. I had to look a certain part. Even Marcus had a blazer covering a t-shirt, the best I could get him to do on short notice.

  “You know the drill. We have to make it inside so we can speak with him.” I had a feeling Hardy would want to talk to me once he heard what I had to say. A breeze carried through the courtyard, rustling more leaves, and I cringed against the chilly air. “Let’s go.”

  “You sure he’ll be up?” Marcus asked, dropping his mostly-empty cup into the trash.

  I peered at the watch, the same one my father had left in my care before his final trip. It was like he had known he wouldn’t be returning. I wondered what he’d given my sister. Bev had never mentioned anything of the sort, but then again, I hadn’t thought to ask.

  “It’s after seven. He’ll be up.” The dawn was only beginning this late in the year, and we hiked the cobblestone sidewalk to the museum grounds exit. I didn’t bother going to the crosswalk, and waited until there was no traffic coming before jogging across the street. Marcus beat me to the other side, and we strode with purpose toward the building’s entrance.

  “This guy must have done well for himself,” Marcus whispered as we neared the doors.

  He was right. This building was gorgeous. Old money nice. I admired the ornate stone carving above the awning, and a hefty doorman opened the doors at our arrival.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. He smelled like cigarettes and coffee, and I noticed the frayed sleeves and scuffed shoes.

  “We’re here to see one of your residents. Mr. Brian Hardy. Suite nine-seventeen.” I dropped a hint of Bostonian culture into my voice, mimicking some of my old professors.

  “Mr. Hardy rarely has visitors. Is he expecting you?”

  I glanced at the man’s nametag without him noticing. “Darrel, we’re with the Committee of Archaeology and couldn’t reach Mr. Hardy by email or phone. He’s won an award for a study previously unpublished until someone found it in the archives two years prior. It is an article worthy of so much more than our mediocre award, but Mr. Hardy should be notified nonetheless.”

  “I’ll have to call up, see if he’s better today.”

  “Better?” I asked, furrowing my brow for added concern.

  Darrel seemed like he’d said too much and lifted a finger, walking to the desk, where a pack of cigarettes lay beside an unread newspaper. I saw a key ring hanging on a nail stuck into the side of the desk, with a bellhop’s hat on the floor underneath. He returned a minute later, shaking his head.

  “Sorry, sir. No answer. If you’d like to leave a message, I can…”

  “No worries. Marcus, give the man something for his troubles.” I waved for the door, and Marcus seemed to comprehend my motivation.

  “Thank you, Darrel. We appreciate your time…” Marcus walked to the exit, pulling a twenty from his wallet, and I moved as fast as I could, silently pilfering the key ring from its resting place. It was tight in my pocket, and I clutched my trench to keep the keys from ringing.

  “Cold morning out there. Take care.” I stepped past Darrel, who was none the wiser, and hurried down the sidewalk with Marcus in tow.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  When we were around the block, I stopped and pulled the key ring from my pocket, two dozen keys jangling as I waved them.

  “Professor Walker. I didn’t know you were so sneaky.”

  With one glance at the building’s entrance, I waved Marcus into the alley. “Time to find our own way up.”

  “Fine. But you owe me twenty bucks.”

  6

  After testing my patience searching for the loading zone entrance key, we were inside and jogging up the stairwell. It was dimly lit, and I doubted any of these well-off tenants used them often. By the time we made it to the ninth story, I was sweating under my suit and jacket. Marcus seemed unfazed by the workout.

  “Getting too old for this, Prof?” he asked, holding the door open for me.

  I huffed a bit and bumped him with my shoulder as I passed by. “I’m fine.”

  “What are we going to do, break in?” Marcus asked. The carpets were a dark green, old but well maintained, and we walked by five suite doors before arriving at Hardy’s. Nine-seventeen.

  I lifted a hand to knock but held back.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “What are we even doing here?” I asked. “I should be at home, working on my final exam study guide.”

  “Don’t give up on me now, Rex. I had to break a date.”

  I peered at Marcus, and he stared back eagerly with his dark brown eyes, a smirk on his face. He was right. I knocked three times and let my arms dangle by my sides.

  No one answered. I went to knock again, and the door opened just enough for me to see a middle-aged woman through the crack.

  “Can
I help you?” she asked with a Filipino accent.

  “We’re here to speak with Brian Hardy. He’s won an award…”

  “How did you get up here?” she asked, glancing at Marcus.

  “Darrel said he wouldn’t mind some visitors.” She started to shut the door, and I acted quickly, shoving my foot in the jamb. “Please. We’ve come a long way. Just tell Hardy that Dirk Walker’s kid is here to discuss the Bridge.”

  She clearly had no idea what I was talking about, but nodded and opened the door wider. I didn’t enter yet, and we waited for a lengthy five minutes while she was gone. The décor inside the foyer was dated, but in pristine condition. There was a stack of papers near an umbrella stand, and a long mat covering the oak floor.

  “Mr. Hardy will see you.” She seemed surprised by this.

  “We’re sorry for interrupting,” Marcus told her, and she gave him a muted smile.

  “Follow me.”

  The hallway was short, the walls empty and devoid of anything personal. We passed a clean but dated kitchen, and I saw the living room was tidy, with a little TV mounted on the wall. The furniture looked unused.

  There were two bedrooms, one with a cross on the door, and Hardy’s aide led us to the master. She leaned toward me and whispered words of caution. “He is having a good day, but it might not last. If he starts to lose focus, please come and tell me, and you’ll have to leave.”

  I nodded as she opened the door. Everything changed. Gone were the neatly-washed hardwood floors and the uncluttered living space. This was the room of a madman. Books were everywhere, numerous stacks of them behind a huge wooden desk.

  “Whoa.” Marcus walked toward the hundreds of papers across the room, where clippings were taped, thumbtacked, and glued to the surface of the wall.

  Brian Hardy sat in a recliner, oxygen feeding through a tube into his nose. His left hand was clutching the arm of the chair, and his fingers twitched as I approached him. He was a skeletal man, with only a few white wisps of hair remaining on his liver-spotted pate. His eyes could have been blue once, but they were so clouded with cataracts that I couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Hello, Mr. Hardy. I’m Rex Walker.”

  “I met you once. Did you know that?” His voice was oddly deep, powerful despite his diminished frame.

  I sat on the bed, noting the mattress was rock hard. “I didn’t. When was this?”

  “You weren’t much more than a baby. Your father and I were good friends.”

  My arms tingled at his words. “Do you know what happened to him?” I couldn’t believe my mother hadn’t mentioned Hardy before, or that his missing journals had been hidden so well, I’d never found them.

  “Who?” he asked, his glance settling on Marcus.

  “My dad.”

  “Right. Dirk. He was a good man. Who’s the kid?” Hardy seemed cautious of the young black man reading his clippings.

  “He’s my research partner,” I said.

  Hardy nodded slowly. “You look just like him.”

  “My dad?”

  “Yep. Same nose. Penetrating eyes. Have you found him yet?”

  I froze. “How could I find him?”

  “The Bridge.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, my words so quiet, I wasn’t sure he’d heard at first.

  “They exist.” He lifted a scrawny arm, pointing upwards. “They’re real. Everyone thought I was a lunatic, but I was right. Your dad saw that too.”

  “Aliens?” Marcus asked, coming over to crouch near Hardy. “You’ve seen them?”

  “I don’t need to see them, son. I gave everything I had to your father and that sidekick of his. They weren’t supposed to leave without me…” His hand trembled, and he set it in his lap. All I could hear was the beating of my own heart and the hiss of his oxygen tank.

  “What did you give my dad?” I asked, louder this time.

  “The signs were there. It just took solving the clues. I was always good at puzzles. Not so much anymore,” he grumbled, sending himself into a coughing fit.

  His aide came to the door, poking her head in, and he waved her away. “I’m fine, Phoebe.” She disappeared, and he glared at the hallway. “Damned woman. Thinks every little hiccup is the end. Wouldn’t she like that? Probably rob me blind and vanish before I hit the floor.”

  “Can we return to this puzzle you’re speaking of?” I asked.

  He wore a dress shirt, but the sleeve wasn’t buttoned at the cuff. I spotted the matching tattoo on his skin, the same one I’d duplicated on my chest in homage to my father. I motioned to it. “What does it mean?”

  He lifted his arm, glancing at the marking. “We were brothers. The four of us.”

  “The four?” I asked. “Who? Dirk, Clayton, you, and who?”

  He blinked quickly, and his breathing grew more labored.

  “Mr. Hardy, what is the Bridge?”

  He didn’t answer, and I peered at Marcus. “Look for a journal. Something that looks old.”

  Marcus stood, and Hardy disregarded the young man as he rifled through his stacks of books.

  “What is the Bridge?” I asked, louder this time.

  He met my gaze, smiling widely. “I was supposed to go with them. Now look at me.”

  I needed to change tactics, to uncover something valuable. “Where did they go? Where did my father and Clay go in 1989, when they vanished?”

  “Estrelas,” he said, pointing up to the ceiling.

  I didn’t know Portuguese, but it sounded familiar. “Can you be more specific?”

  He started coughing again, his face turning bright red. I rose quickly, panicking, and Phoebe ran in, adjusting the dial on the machine. She wiped his mouth and turned to us. “Time for Mr. Hardy to get some rest.”

  I ignored her as she helped the old man to his bed. “Hardy, where did they go? What is the Bridge?”

  Phoebe recoiled in fear, and Hardy only laughed gruffly as his head settled on the pillow. “Estrelas. Don’t you see, Dirk? You better not leave without me.”

  Marcus arrived, breaking my hypnotized state. “I found something.” His voice was quiet.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. Maybe we can return when he’s…”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Please go.” She spoke with authority, and I let Marcus lead me into the hallway.

  I was shaken by the whole experience, and Marcus paced the corridor, running his hands over his short black hair. “What the hell was that? He knows about the Bridge! The tattoo! This is like some real-life mystery stuff right here.”

  “What did you get?” I asked, and he smiled again as he pulled a notebook from under his shirt.

  We returned to the stairwell, me clutching the book tightly as I tried to read the first page under the half-burnt out light fixture. There was a drawing of the five stars with the streak between them. “This is in my father’s journal. Let’s go to the hotel. We have some reading to do.”

  “Where are they now?” a voice asked, and I pressed the stairwell exit open a smidge to see the doorman’s big body standing by Hardy’s suite.

  I left the keys on the stairs and ran. We made quick work of the steps, taking two or three at a time, and rushed through the exit into the alley, out of breath, a minute later. Marcus kept moving, turning to face me as he walked backwards. “That was awesome. Remind me to go on these trips with you more often, Rex.”

  Tires screeched as a black luxury sedan slid to a halt, nearly striking Marcus as he stepped into the middle of the back alley. He patted himself on the legs, then his chest, and moved toward me without saying a word.

  The tinted rear window slid down, revealing an older man in an expensive suit. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Hop in.”

  I groaned as I recognized his face. “Marcus, meet Hunter Madison, the billionaire.”

  ____________

  Marcus was asked to occupy the front seat with the driver, and Hunter motioned me into the back-passenger side. “What are the odd
s?” I asked him, but of course, he offered no reasoning to how he’d conveniently found us in an alley behind Brian Hardy’s complex.

  “Mr. Walker, it’s been a long time.” He stuck his hand out, but I ignored it.

  “Cut the crap, Madison. I want to know what you’re up to right this instant.” I gave him my best stare-down, but the gray-bearded man didn’t flinch.

  “I want the same things as you, Mr. Walker.”

  Lavish cologne clung to the man like a cape, and I rolled my window down, feeling suffocated. “And what’s that?”

  “The truth. You refused to accept my assistance before, but now… I have something you’re going to be interested in.” His green eyes crinkled as he showcased a veneered smile.

  “Come on, Marcus. That’s our cue to leave.” I tested the door, finding it locked. “Driver. Unlock the doors. We’re going to the hotel.”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of checking you out already. Your luggage is in the trunk.” He jabbed a thumb behind him.

  Before I could think, I had his collar firm in my grip. “What do you have? And don’t play games.” I knew Hunter Madison had funded my father’s ventures, and that my mother had hated the man, and it was enough for me to blame him for Dad’s disappearance. When I’d come knocking twenty years ago, he’d claimed to know nothing about it. Of course, a decade later, after I’d begun my own investigating, he’d found me, offered me money to continue the mission Dirk and Clay had begun.

  To the old man’s credit, he remained calm as he lifted his hands in the air. “Mr. Walker, we’re professionals. Let’s act like it.”

  I released him, the fury burning away from me like gasoline with a flame. “How could you even check us out?” I heard someone shout, and I saw Darrel exiting the building, anger in his eyes. “Before you answer that, drive!”

  The car sped up, racing through the alley, and turned onto Central Park West, heading north.

  “I own the corporation that retains your little hotel. Nice spot. Very budget friendly.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he made the dig.